Notes on a Detour

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

I dug up an old email address and found this really sick article I wrote for a Journalism class in community college. To any fans I have left, I hope you enjoy.

(Keep in mind, this was written about a year ago when all the cultural references were relevant.)

Apparent at grocery checkout lines, on the television, in magazines, newspapers and books; and splattered shamelessly throughout the expanding world of the Internet, our obsession with celebrities is growing.

We just can’t get enough of those familiar faces and the stories, whether true, false, or outrageous, that they inspire. We appreciate the one-way street of secrets, dirty laundry, and scandal where we have nothing to lose and only smut to gain.

1. Susan Boyle probably had a "tragic breakdown"
because she was so annoyed with the invasive press.
2. Does no one really not stop to think that the
relationship between Stewart and Pattinson
could be a farce used to sell movie tickets?
3. Yes, I did know all of their names without
looking it up. I never said I was a role model.

And yet, despite the hundreds of Oscar winning actors, Championship-ring-wearing athletes, and Grammy winning musical acts that were once ogled and admired for their talent, we have recently expanded the qualifications of celebrity.

Websites that boast exclusive celebrity coverage, such as TMZ currently feature stories about the couple, Kate and Jon Gosselin, who are literally famous for having septuplets, totally their brood at 8.

Just to brush up, a quick Google search for the word “celebrity” reveals words such as “acclaimed, “revered,” and “talented.” Why then is this couple, whose only collective “talent” is the inability to properly employee condoms, talked about so frequently in the media?

With this particular example, we could easily put the blame on reality television, which has notoriously transformed mediocrity with the use of some sort of 15 minutes of fame assembly line that churns out stars like Ford churned out cars; but the problem is much bigger than the countless nobodies that don the oxymoronic title of “Reality Television Star.”

Celebrity attention is now given freely to partiers, drunkards and adulterers; people who are too fat, too skinny, or too ugly for their trade; heiresses, people who know famous people, and anyone who claims to have slept with Tiger Woods.

Instead of acclaim, reverence, and talent, one needs to be a social travesty, a pockmark on humanity, to receive the coveted title of celebrity that once was only given to those with enough talent to merit it.

The word “celebrity” itself resembles the word “celebration.” Similarly, by printing, publishing and obsessing over these people, we are celebrating, and now actively rewarding bad behavior through financial incentives, attention, and jobs.

We should question our treatment of these actions on a moral level and withdraw any support that we give to this population of clearly sick people, whether given intentionally or not. Let us start living our own lives instead of relying on voyeurism to satiate some perverse need to see chaos in others’ in order to preserve the sanity in our own!

And yet, like Paris Hilton and every train wreck that came before her, we just can’t stop watching as the train derails and plummets tragically off a cliff, while we sit safely in the station a couple hundred yards away, protected by a pane of forethought safety glass, an aversion to train wrecks, and relative emotional stability.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

I definitely don't have any mall puns left for titles, but I don't work at the mall anymore so I think I am forgiven.

Please enjoy the final installment of:
The Top Mall Patrons of my Career!
(in no particular order)

This is an actually picture of the line outside of the
Chick-Fil-A at my mall. Pretty sure my old boss took
this picture, but I found it on google, too.

9. I have never been to a Chick-Fil-A. As a vegetarian, I tend to avoid places that reference animals in their title. Many of the mall-goers, however, LOVE Chick-Fil-A. So much so, that it meritted me capitalizing "love." About a year ago, a Chick-Fil-A opened up on the mall property. During the time that the restaurant (or fast food establishment) was under construction, I had at least one person per day, desperately, ask when the Chick-Fil-A was going to open. Three or more people told me that they cried when they first saw the sign. One woman proudly told me that her granddaughter is allergic to chicken, but can eat Chick-Fil-A. I don't understand how that is a good thing, but she seemed to think that it spoke to the quality of Chick-Fil-A chicken. During the grand opening, fans lined up in tents outside up to 24 hours in advanced. Chick-Fill-A fans are essentially akin to Beatles fans. Please watch out for them. If you are between one of them and a Chick-Fil-A, you will get mauled, stepped on, cried at, etc.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

My job is quite boring. I sit at a desk/booth/kiosk all day and watch people walk by. I am supposed to answer questions, but kids these days are afraid of real people and so they avoid me like the plague. Except of course, when they are meeting 25 other teens/tweens/adults/family members. Large meetings of this sort are always RIGHT next to me, which despite allowing me prime eavesdropping real estate, is really just annoying.

I totally have this phone. Don't let it fool you
though, it is totally blue despite being named "Charcoal."

Anyhow, in the midst of these here boring days, I like to text people. It gives me something to do, and someone to relay the events of the day to. Normally, I desperately text everyone in my phonebook hoping that someone will bite and be willing to carry me through the day via text-versation. Today though, was unlike any other day. Among three other conversations, my step mom decided to text me a 6 page long response to my reciprocated "how are you?" My response was "i am good. working a lot."

Needless to say, my phone is now near dead and I have 6 more hours left in the day.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Anytime a call is transferred to me from another department, it means that the transferer couldn't handle the transferee, and so I, being the lowly concierge have to deal with whoever is on the line with no hope of being rescued by the transfer button and all the escapism that comes with it.

Today, it was an older woman who said she was looking for an expensive restaurant. I was informed that she had already been read a list of all of the restaurants that we have here at the mall. Without a name, or cross streets, Google then became my only ally as I looked for this elusive "expensive restaurant." She said that "everybody seemed to know the restaurant, except the people that needed to," namely me. And so I was already on this old woman's bad side for not being a psychic phonebook: Able to determine what restaurant you want to eat at with the vaguest of parameters!

I swear this is who was on the phone.

After my probing questions in which I desperately tried to cling to some sort of specificity about this restaurant, she mentioned that this restaurant was open late, until at least 3 am (Taco Bell?), and served every kind of food (Hometown Buffet?). Later in the conversation, she said that the restaurant might not even be in this city at all, which was definitely the most helpful thing she could have said. After listing off a half dozen restaurants that met one or more of her criteria, she settled on an Asian restaurant called New Moon that is neither open late, nor renaissance in its menu options.

I really don't know what the point of writing all of this was except to complain about a particularly difficult customer today and share her stupidity with my loyal fan(s?). Likewise, I wanted to pepper this anecdote from my day with witty comments and dry humor so that when I inevitably share it with everyone I meet for years to come, I will have jokes built in to the foundation. Consider this a test run for this syndicated story!

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

In the Summer Season, our mall has seen a uniquely diverse population. And so, prepare yourself for another installment of

The Top Mall Patrons of my Career!

(in no particular order)

7. In almost every situation, I hate tourists. I hate looking like a tourist, I hate things that cater to tourists, and I hate the uniform of the tourist. Almost everything about tourists is deplorable. Except, ironically, their behavior in malls. For some reason, tourists often treat my mall as if it is a museum. I have seen entire families line themselves up in front of the most mundane of scenery, with the sort of grinless obligation only seen in depression-era photos, in order to preserve their family memories forever on 35mm. These families are entertaining to watch because of their complete lack of "American-ness," but are also appreciated because they are the only people that truly admire our malls 1992 era paint scheme and fake palm trees.

8. While it isn't unusual to see a 30, 40, or 50 something walking around the mall in his/her gym clothes, usually because they are too lazy to actually get dressed in the morning, mall walkers are a different phenomena entirely. Mall walkers are usually much older, say in their 70s or 80s, and they literally walk laps around the mall. They are often overweight and clearly haven't heard of sweatpants, made obvious by their lack of gym attire. While they are supposed to limit their mall-walking to 7-10am, a few can be seen at later and later times of day. The best part about the mall walkers is watching them dodge the clusters of 15 year old loiterers while maintaining their swift mall-walk pace. They usually take mall walking pretty seriously and will trample anyone who gets in their way. Don't let this guys smile fool you. Mall walkers are a serious mall subculture.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Since I am recently out of school and have very little motivation to write ANYTHING, the best I can offer to you blogitarians, is another installment of my observations on mall society.

The Top Mall Patrons of my Career!

(in no particular order)

5. Dog people are an evolving and more visible mall population. Recently at my particular mall, a restaurant opened up called The Lazy Dog Cafe in which they openly allow dogs to sit with their human counterparts in the patio section. For some reason, however, dog owners have taken this to mean that the entire mall is actually in fact a dog park and they let their dogs roam freely. Despite the fact that we have a "no dogs on the floor" rule, I never reprimand this people for their annoying habits. That isn't my job and some dogs are really cute. Anyhow, some of the craziest dog owners in the city find themselves in the mall with their dog strollers and matching haircuts. My biggest problem with this trend is that dogs are animals, (we are too, but that is a discussion for a different blog entry) and they really have no part in such a humanly place. They can't poop, eat, bark, run, or do any other doggy things in a mall. But, they also can't shop, converse, loiter, or do any of the humanly things that malls allow for. So, to all dog people, if you love your dogs, take them to a park. If you love the mall, get some human friends.

6. Chatters make me really despise my job. These are the people that think my job is to listen to them complain about their problems. Really though, they are just becoming one of my problems that I need to complain to someone else about, thus perpetuating a really unfortunate cycle of gloom. What people need to understand is that I am essentially a receptionist. I answer phones and do office work and give people directions. I really don't care if you are having financial woes, or if your husband died, or if your mom is sick. Even if I did care, I make very little money and can't do anything about it. You will not gain anything by talking to me. I would rather just be left alone to work, and to blog, of course.

Friday, May 28, 2010

3. Tween Boys are such a joy to watch amble through the mall with that "I-wish-I-could-shave-so-bad" lust in there eyes. They usually travel in packs with hair that is far longer than it should be and wearing clothing articles where they shouldn't be (i.e. ties around their waists, socks on their arms, and shoe laces around their wrists). They think they are really cool, and yet there are a few of them that I have seen every weekend. In other words, they ONLY hang out at the mall, which makes you about as cool as a mall employee, which speaking from experience, is NOT cool. (P.S. Why do the kids up on the left there have pink hands?)

4. Young, entrepreneurial parents are an annoying breed. In their attempt to live the postmodernist American Dream, they plan their family to the last detail. I can only bet that somewhere buried on their Macbook Pro, is a spreadsheet with each pregnancy planned to the day and a reminder to hit up that hip baby website for one of these puppies -------->.

Which only reminds me that the worst part about these couples are their crappy, foreign strollers that look like they were made byIkea.The young, post-hipsters' infinite mediocrity has led them to overcompensate with space-aged strollers that look like everything Walt Disney put into TomorrowLand in the 1950s; utterly useless. I don't understand the point of these overly-complicated strollers that they drop $1000 on, despite the fact that little Poe and Italia will only even use it for 2 years.

Well, that's all I got.

None of these photos are mine. I googled them. NOT MINE. Don't sue me.